


Blue Roses and Cicadas

by Anonymous



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Crying, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, FE3H Kinkmeme, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misgendering, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Coercion, Trans Glenn Fraldarius, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, Underage Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:34:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25922152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “What do you want, Miklan?” Glenn sighs. He doesn’t try to wiggle away from Miklan’s grasp. In a contest of brute strength, Glenn will lose. He knows this. No, he’s better off waiting until Miklan grows bored of toying with him.“I saw something… interesting earlier,” the redhead muses, and though Glenn is facing away from him and can’t see his face, he can very clearly picture his leer as he leans down to whisper in Glenn’s ear, his hot breath threatening to send a shiver down his spine. It smells of mint. “Tell me, does Daddy know his perfect son likes to get on his knees for the other knights?”_____Fill for FE3H Kink Meme
Relationships: Glenn Fraldarius/Miklan
Kudos: 52
Collections: Anonymous





	Blue Roses and Cicadas

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt:
> 
> Miklan coerces Glenn into having sex with him somewhere where they could be caught easily. Miklan cums inside after he’s done.
> 
> +Breeding kink on Miklan’s end.
> 
> ++Dirty talk + humiliation
> 
> +++Glenn cries
> 
> ++++Rodrigue finds Glenn after the fact and comforts him.  
> ____
> 
> CW: Since Miklan's an asshole, this story has him intentionally misgendering Glenn a lot, and using afab terms regarding Glenn's anatomy.

Glenn steps away from the party, just for a moment. From the dusky gardens that sprawl away from Castle Fhirdiad, he can still hear the lilt of the violins inside, can faintly make out the light chatter and laughter of the guest inside enjoying their evening.

A few of the guests, like him, mill between the well-tended hedges, admiring the royal blue roses that bloom only in Faerghus, just for the moon or two where the weather is warm and mostly dry. Perhaps they too felt suffocated in the throngs of dancing and mingling lords and ladies, a veritable who’s who of the Kingdom’s nobility. Or, perhaps, he thinks blithely as he watches a giggling couple stumbling past without noticing him sitting alone under a gazebo, they’re just looking for somewhere secluded for a quick fuck.

He sighs, letting himself linger just a little too long among the sweet-scented roses, closing his eyes against the soft music and the hum of cicadas. He knows he has to head back in soon. His father will notice his absence soon enough, and he will have to return to pretending to be charming and knightly for the sake of the lords who he is routinely shown off to.

_Look at Glenn, isn’t he wonderful? Sixteen and already a knight. His family’s pride._

Sometimes, Glenn wishes he could just say screw all of that. That’s not to say he doesn’t enjoy being a knight for His Majesty, protecting His Highness and doing his duty to his country. It’s all he’s ever wanted, after all, and he’s worked hard to get there. But it’s just so Goddess damned _draining_. Everyone wants him to be Glenn the knight at all times. Sometimes, he just wants to be Glenn the teenager.

“Fraldarius,” a harsh, gravely voice grunts, heavy footsteps coming to a stop behind him.

Glenn sighs. “Gautier.” He opens his eyes, though he spares Miklan not a single glance as he stands to leave, to head back in.

“What’s your rush?” Miklan laughs, grabbing him roughly by the arm and jerking him back. Glenn isn’t prepared for that and he stumbles, falling against Miklan’s broad chest. Judging by the rumble of laughter that he can feel reverberating through the older boy, it is exactly what Miklan had been hoping for. Glenn grits his teeth; Miklan is always like this, thinking he can push Glenn around just because he’s bigger and stronger (though, he can never seem to beat Glenn in a spar, the younger boy’s skill and speed serving him well).

“I need to head back,” Glenn huffs, “and I’d rather do so without your stink on me.”

“Ouch,” Miklan says dryly, not letting him go. Rather, he holds Glenn tighter, fingers digging into his bicep, hard enough he’s sure his fair skin will be spotted with bruises in the days to come. “How rude. I took extra care to clean up for tonight, I’ll have you know.”

That much, Glenn notices, seems to be true. This close to Miklan, he can smell the oils that must have scented his bath. Earthy, like sandalwood, with just a hint of something spicy underneath. Pleasant. Which surprises Glenn. He’s never known Miklan to be pleasant in any regard.

“What do you want, Miklan?” Glenn sighs. He doesn’t try to wiggle away from Miklan’s grasp. In a contest of brute strength, Glenn will lose. He knows this. No, he’s better off waiting until Miklan grows bored of toying with him.

“I saw something… interesting earlier,” the redhead muses, and though Glenn is facing away from him and can’t see his face, he can very clearly picture his leer as he leans down to whisper in Glenn’s ear, his hot breath threatening to send a shiver down his spine. It smells of mint. “Tell me, does Daddy know his perfect _son_ likes to get on his knees for the other knights?”

Glenn feels his face heat, and he finally does shudder when Miklan’s hands start roving over his chest. Obviously, no his father doesn’t know about that. The thought that Miklan might tell him is enough to make panic well in his chest…

His chest, where Miklan is currently groping him through his jacket and shirt. Glenn is frozen, too stunned to protest. “How do you think he’d react,” Miklan continues taunting, “if he found out that you suck cock like a little whore?”

“Don’t,” Glenn grits out. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

Miklan laughs, hands trailing lower. They stop just below the tie of his trousers, rubbing lightly across the white fabric just over his mound. “And what do you think the knights would think, if they found out you’re just a little girl playing soldier?”

Red hot anger wells in Glenn, and he strains to free himself, but he’s trapped in the cage of Miklan’s thick arms. Miklan just laughs, fingers dipping between his legs and stroking him through his trousers. “What do you want?” Glenn repeats, cringing at the broken hitch in his voice.

In response, Miklan grinds his hip against Glenn’s rear, half-hard length prodding between his cheeks. “Maybe I just want what was promised to me.”

That had been true, years ago… almost so long it feels like it was a different life. Before Sylvain had been born and Miklan was passed over as the heir of House Gautier. Before Glenn was Glenn. Their engagement was short-lived, to say the least.

To his surprise, Miklan’s arms fall away, and Glenn is free. He spins around, not trusting Miklan farther than he can throw him, eyes narrowed. “You can leave, if you want,” Miklan says casually, leering down at him. “I’m not going to force you.”

Glenn dares a half-step back, testing. Miklan doesn’t move, unconcerned. “And if I leave?”

He shrugs. “There’s going to be a lot of knights who look at you differently in the morning.” Glenn’s blood runs cold. “That doesn’t bother you, though, right? You already suck them off. I’m sure a slut like you wouldn’t mind getting passed around in the barracks.”

Glenn can feel his hands trembling. “What, you want me to suck you off, too?”

The smirk Miklan flashes him is that of a man who knows he’s won. “Not exactly.” His cold hazel eyes flash down, raking over Glenn’s body. “There’s nothing better than an untouched pussy, you know.”

“What makes you think it’s untouched?” Glenn challenges, sounding bolder than he feels. He can’t believe he’s even considering it, but Miklan’s threat rings true in his mind. Horny knights who’ve been away from their wives for a few moons don’t always act respectably around the women of Castle Fhirdiad if they can get away with it.

“Please,” Miklan snorts. “Stuck up bitch like you, the only thing that’s been up there is your own fingers.” Glenn hates that he’s right. “So, leave or bend over the rail. Choice is yours, Fraldarius.”

He doesn’t move for the longest moment, mind racing as he weighs the pros and cons. Fuck Miklan or let him tell his brothers in arms that he wasn’t exactly born with the right body, risk the seedier men among them deciding they can help themselves. Neither was a particularly appealing option.

Slowly, Glenn turns away.

He bends over the smooth white wood of the gazebo railing.

And he unlaces his trousers.

Miklan appears behind him, chuckling lightly. He wastes no time yanking Glenn’s trousers down to his knees, calloused hands smoothing over the flesh of Glenn’s ass for a moment. There’s a light squeal of delight over the sounds of the night and the party, likely the girl from the drunk, giggling couple that passed by before, having their fun. Glenn’s stomach rolls as he realizes anyone could happen by and see.

He isn’t given much time to worry about it, however, as Miklan plunges a finger deep inside him in a single thrust, laughing when Glenn hisses at the abrupt stretch of it. Miklan’s fingers are far thicker than his own, and when Glenn deigns to finger himself, he works up to it slowly. Miklan offers him no such courtesy, already pumping into him at a brutal pace.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he growls, bending over Glenn’s back to nip at his earlobe. “Gonna feel so good around my cock.”

“Shut up,” Glenn hisses through gritted teeth, eyes screwed shut. His fingers dig into the rail. A second finger slips inside, already stretching him wider than three of Glenn’s own, the most he’s ever taken.

He can’t help the bloom of arousal that flare in his belly, tight and white hot as Miklan’s fingers rub at all the sensitive spots deep inside him. Miklan’s motions aren’t clumsy, unpracticed as Glenn expected; he’s done this before. While he’s clearly not paying much attention to Glenn’s pleasure, there’s no doubt that he knows what he’s doing. Glenn can’t help but wonder what girl would fuck Miklan.

When the third finger enters him, Glenn chokes out a groan. He feels full to bursting, burning with how wide he’s being forced open so quickly. The arousal that had been slowly building is extinguished very suddenly by the pain of it.

The fingers withdraw entirely. Entirely too soon. Miklan’s hands leave him for a moment, and Glenn knows he is busy unlacing his pants, shoving his smalls down to free his cock. Glenn closes his eyes, tries to breathe deeply, tries no to think about how Miklan is lining the head of his cock up against Glenn’s entrance. Sothis damn it all, he feels big, and panic flutters behind Glenn's ribs.

When the head breaches him, the pain of it knocks the air from Glenn’s lungs. Miklan groans, roughly bottoming out and grinding against Glenn. “Fuck,” he mutters, hands gripping Glenn’s hips tightly to stop his squirming. “Your pussy swallowed me right up.”

“Stop talking,” Glenn pleads, hating the whiny sound of it.

Miklan rolls his hips, pulling nearly all the way out and slamming back in, dragging an undignified yelp from Glenn. “I don’t think you’re in the position to call the shots here, bitch,” he laughs, starting an unforgiving pace. Glenn can’t speak, can barely breathe, hands desperately bracing against the rail to keep himself steady. He has to bite his lip to keep himself quiet, and he feels small pinpricks of blood well up under his teeth, the taste of iron filling his mouth.

Miklan does not shut up, seeming to take as much pleasure saying vile things as he does fucking Glenn. “I think you missed your calling, Fraldarius. A cunt this good is just meant to be fucked, not wasted so you can pretend to be a man.”

“‘m not pretending, jackass,” he manages.

Miklan bends over him again, and the position drives his cock in further as he continues fucking him. “Guys don’t have pussies.” Before Glenn can say anything, a hand wraps hard into his hair, yanking his head back. “I can just imagine Daddy walking by,” he muses. “Seeing you take cock like you were born to. Or maybe that knight you let fuck your throat earlier. Bet he’d be up for sloppy seconds.”

Glenn can’t help the groan that slips free, and he’s sure his face is burning, nearly the color of Miklan’s fiery hair. The pain has started dulling into something less sharp, the coil of pleasure building slowly in its place, and something about Miklan’s vulgar words only stoke the fire inside him. Goddess, he is _not_ getting off on the thought, is he? The lines that separate shame and pain and pleasure are blurred and Glenn can’t think straight.

“And, who knows,” Miklan continues because the fucker can never just shut up, “maybe I’ll put a baby in your belly. Make you a mommy.” Glenn breaks then, the first tear rolling down his cheek. “You’d be real pretty, swollen with my bastard.” His chest shakes with the sobs he barely manages to keep inside. It is then that he realizes Miklan’s hand has snaked between his legs, busy rubbing in tandem with his thrusts. The pleasure mounts, building like a wave set to break against the shore. “Wouldn’t be able to pretend anymore. Everyone would be know I bred you like a bitch.”

Glenn’s orgasm hits then, and he cries out brokenly, legs giving out under him; if it weren’t for Miklan’s hold on his hips, he would crumple to the floor. Miklan’s thrust become erratic, wild and without rhythm. Glenn can hear his shuddering groan as heat pools inside him, Miklan finally falling still.

He pants above Glenn who is still crying silently, resting inside him for a moment, cock softening. The feeling of the older boy’s flaccid length pulling out is bizarre, and Glenn can feel his cooling spend trickling down the back of his thighs as Miklan steps back to admire his work.

“We should do this again some time, Fraldarius,” Miklan taunts, tucking himself back into his trousers and retying the laces. Glenn’s legs give out under him, and he sinks to his knees, fingers still clenched tight to the rail as he holds himself upright. A soft hand, almost tender, soothes his hair before the heavy footfalls retreat and Glenn is alone once again.

It feels like an eternity before Glenn can move, managing to hitch his trousers back up over his hips and leaning heavily against the railing. He is sore, every movement sending a sharp flare of discomfort through his core, different from the deep muscle soreness from a good training session.

He is too numb to care.

That’s how his father finds him, though Glenn has no clue how much time has passed. Maybe minutes, maybe hours. Tears are still silently streaming, and they show no indication of stopping any time soon. He doesn’t look up at his father. He braces himself for what he knows he will hear.

 _Stop crying. You’re a knight, not a child. Be a man_.

“Are you alright, son?” The softness in his father’s voice surprises him, and he’s even more surprised when the man sits down next to him, wrapping an arm over his shoulder and pulling him close. Glenn lets himself be held, shaking his head slowly before leaning against his father. “What’s wrong?”

“I… Someone… I didn’t want-” His voice cracks with a sob, and his hands clench into fists. Goddess, he can’t say it. His father’s shoulders go stiff then, and maybe he he doesn’t have to say it after all. Maybe he understands the words Glenn can’t bring himself to speak.

“If you want to talk about it, I’ll listen.”

Glenn swallows hard. “No.” That’s the last thing he wants to talk about.

“Alright,” his father soothes. He runs a hand down Glenn’s hair, holding him tight while Glenn cries. He hasn’t cried since he was a child. His father has always seen crying as weakness, always scolds Felix when tears start to well, as they did so easily, in the boys eyes.

Without realizing it, Glenn’s hand presses to his stomach with a swell of revulsion. _You’d be real pretty, swollen with my bastard_. Goddess, anything but that. The thought sends a fresh wave of tears streaming, and he can’t help but sob into his father’s shoulder.

They don’t return to the party, sitting on the gazebo long into the night surrounded by the hum of cicadas and the sweet scent of blue roses.


End file.
